


Chartreux

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Tongue Sex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smaug’s favourite trinket returns to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chartreux

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I made the horrible mistake of joking about this pairing when I should’ve known full well I don’t have that stop button fic writers should really have.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He returns like a rat or an insect, creeping through the mountain’s halls in the dead of night. He peels his clothes off one layer at a time, the closer he gets to the heat of Smaug’s inferno, and Smaug slits one eye open ever so slightly to keep track of the progress—a hat left behind there, a furred coat there, then the heavy boots and the matching black belt. It must be terribly cold on the lake. By the time Alfrid makes it to the floor of Smaug’s hall, he has an entirely different silhouette.

He pushes his slick hair back with one shaking hand, his breath coming quicker for the stifling air. Down to torn trousers and an ill-fitting tunic that hangs precariously off one shoulder, Alfrid descends into the pile of gold. He crawls on hands and knees, ever closer, face down, the intricate arches of his cheekbones lit up with the glow of the treasure. He’s all dark browns and greens and pitch black, except for his sallow skin. It’s interesting to Smaug, a creature of rich hues. Many things of Alfrid are. 

As Alfrid reaches Smaug’s side, still carefully quiet, he diverts more into the sea of coins beneath him. His delicate fingers knit carefully inside, raking and curling to keep the hard edges from rattling, padded by his soft skin. Occasionally, he finds a jewel to pluck up in his blunt fingertips, hold to his widening eyes, and then return to the pile. For a while, Smaug allows this. 

Then, when he’s grown bored of watching Alfrid rifle through his hoard, he shoots his tail out like a whip. It wraps around Alfrid’s lithe waist and snares him, jerks him up and dangles him above the floor. Alfrid yelps in shock, but the tension ebbs out afterwards. Smaug is careful not to crush him. Smaug snakes the end of his tail neatly around Alfrid’s legs, securing him, not tugging anything, and then he draws Alfrid before his muzzle and opens his eyes all the way. Alfrid’s reflect the awe. He blows a puff of steam over Alfrid’s tiny form, forcing Alfrid’s skin to glimmer with beads of sweat, his eyes closing and his teeth biting into his bottom lip, a great shiver racking through him. He takes a moment to recover, then mutters in his raspy voice, “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“So you simply thought you would take what treasure you wished?” Smaug muses. Alfrid’s face lights up with sheer horror. 

He splutters, “I’d never do that!” and somehow, Smaug deems it genuine, if only out of fear. Alfrid’s clever, in his own small, mortal way, and he must know he’d never survive Smaug’s wrath. He insists, “Smaug, I swear to you, I would never do anything to jeopardize my relationship with the most magnificent creature in all the world!”

Such flattery makes Smaug chuckle, and he sets Alfrid down, uncoiling his tail again. Alfrid stumbles to sit. He opens his mouth to talk again, and Smaug lifts one claw, pressing the very tip to Alfrid’s collarbone. Alfrid shudders, like he always does at _danger_ , but they’ve done this dance enough for him to no longer flinch away. He must know that Smaug won’t hurt him. Smaug simply slices open his tunic while he mumbles, “I’ve never taken anything from you—not a one. I just... I just like to look at it.” Of course he does. He has greed in him, which Smaug more than fulfills, and Smaug _understands_. He admires, at least, that unlike the dwarves of old, Alfrid _knows_ this truth. As Smaug cuts open Alfrid’s trousers and the thin fabric beneath, Alfrid licks his lips and says, “Clearly, I have impeccable taste.”

Smaug grins with all his teeth. But as he drags the scraps of clothes away, he still coos, “Then why do you not leave that hideous lake creature to stay with me?”

“I don’t want to go back there!” Alfrid insists, wrinkling his nose and scowling. He wraps his arms over his bare chest in the absence of his clothes, knees drawing together to hide his stout cock, though Smaug’s sure he’s warm enough. Probably just habit. Smaug nudges one claw at Alfrid’s arms, signaling that he wants to _see_ , and Alfrid begrudgingly moves his arms away. He fidgets, staring up at the approval coming into Smaug’s eyes, and then he flushes across his cheeks and settles back into the gold, lying down properly for Smaug to see it _all_. He isn’t yet confident enough for someone chosen by a _dragon_ , but his shame melts away under Smaug’s gaze. As Smaug runs the smooth side of his claw affectionately down Alfrid’s little body, Alfrid mutters, “It’s just that I have to eat, is all. I always stay as long as I can, but obviously I can’t steal that much supplies or the Master would find out—”

Smaug snorts every time Alfrid says ‘the Master,’ because he’s never heard anything more ridiculous. If Alfrid has any master, it should be _Smaug_. He grunts, “I hunt you food.”

“I’m not just going to eat a giant dead wolf.”

Dramatically, Smaug sighs, “Of all the insidious creatures I have to find amusing, it’s one too weak to even prepare his own food.” Alfrid scrunches his face up indignantly, but before he can respond, Smaug sticks out his tongue, wrapping the pointed tip flat along both Alfrid’s ankles, then dragging it up the long line of his legs, flattening against his bulging crotch and over his thin chest, then to the side so he can turn his cheek away and gasp. He makes such _lovely_ noises when Smaug licks him, and Smaug gets a strange joy out of the taste, even more so with the way Alfrid’s stained skin shines with his spit and reeks of him. Alfrid’s a mishmash of patterns, stretch marks and odd dimples and red dots: new and more interesting each time. When Smaug nudges Alfrid’s hip with the tip of his muzzle, Alfrid obediently rolls over, and Smaug licks all the way up his back to make him _moan_. Into the back of his dark hair, Smaug coos, “At least you’re pretty.”

From where his cheek rests on the gold, Alfrid’s smile stretches. He becomes pure delight, like he always does when Smaug compliments him. He often whines of the poor way his village treats him, but they’d treat Smaug no better. Men can be such bitter creatures. They simply can’t understand the artistic mixture of ugliness and gorgeousness that make up life’s greatest prizes. They can’t see the allure of Smaug’s conniving, clever-tongued toy. 

Smaug licks Alfrid again and again, growing somewhat heady from the taste and the slew of Alfrid’s noises, and the feeling of Alfrid’s warm flesh squirming against his tongue. Smaug lets Alfrid roll back over when he will, lifting his hips to hump Smaug’s lapping movements. His cock hardens so quickly, all the faster with Smaug’s saliva coating it, and Smaug tastes _all of him_ , until Alfrid lets out a ragged cry and arcs off the gold, coming hard against Smaug’s tongue. It’s all gone in a single swipe. Alfrid’s always quick, though there have been times when Smaug’s humped him for _hours_ , and Alfrid is always good for those. For now, Alfrid lies spent and panting, slick with spit and completely naked, bared for Smaug alone. 

Smaug snuggles down on top of him, his entire body barely the length of Smaug’s muzzle. He curls around it, his little palms lovingly stroking over Smaug’s scales and his chest dripping more in the heat. As Alfrid drifts into his mortal sleep, Smaug debates for the millionth time if perhaps he’ll let Alfrid keep just a small, single gold coin.


End file.
